//------------------------------// // 6 Good Day // Story: Mule PI: The Watchstallion // by Oat Cakes //------------------------------// “So sorry,” Sugar Spice repeated as she poured another glass of lemonade from a wide pitcher. “Hmp.” “Very sorry,” Silent echoed while she placed two cakes from her skillet onto Mule’s plate. “Hmp.” “I'm sorry, sir,” Quick said, taking the lead in the apology contest. Were it not for a butter colored mare, he might have set a record. Seeing their competition, the mares conceded the contest and walked down the bar. “Hmp.” Mule emphasized his point by taking a large bite. “I really should have put it together sooner, or turned on the light to the room”--Mule chewed slowly--“or... um... or the flowers. I should have thought about it with the flowers but--” “It’s a good oat cake,” Mule made a pointed look to Quick. “But--” “Could do without the fanfare.” “But--” “Eat your oats,” Mule demanded as he slid the plate and untouched lemonade to Quick. Seeing as there was no remaining participants in the contest, Quick took his first place prize. He thought to say thanks before trying the oat cakes, but felt it was too close to an apology. Besides, he’d just get a grunt from the mule as he looked out the window. Quick burned the roof of his mouth; they were worth it. After he had soothed his palate with the cool lemonade, Mule spoke, “ ’ts not your fault, its the hat.” As amusing of a sight Quick’s breakfast might have been, Mule had both his eyes and ears pointed to the window. He didn’t need either to know the scalded stallion was giving him a look that begged to be answered. Sugar returned and wordlessly refilled Quick’s glass. They shared a look, each now nervous for their own reasons, before she left again. When she was out of earshot Mule began to answer Quick’s look, “The hat has a few ‘rules,’ can’t give it away, can’t damage it, whatever. I don’t do magic; just know its cursed.” Despite the pain, Quick was compelled to ask, “What do you mean cursed?” He wanted to continue, but regretted his inability to ask short winded questions. “How?” he managed; the word stung. “ ‘ts just cursed.” Mule stated solidly. Quick tried another lemonade remedy and waited a long minute before he felt his question was worth asking. “Artifice, rune-craft? I know enchantments--its not that.” “Don’t care,” Mule got up from his seat at the bar and glanced briefly towards the kitchen before making for the door. His slow pace afforded Quick the time to finish his glass. When Mule had disturbed the bells at the door, Sugar bussed the plate and glass while asking, “You’ll be back?” to which Quick nodded as he donned his saddlebag. From then till the bells chimed again, she watched him leave. “You put a ‘cursed’ hat on me? Why? And how bad is it? and--” Quick nearly tripped over the tracks as the morning sun blinded him, “--ow.” “You’re not dying. Hat’s got rules. I said some of ‘em. You break the rules, the hat does something.” Mule shrugged, “Sometimes its a good thing. Got you a free breakfast.” Hardly believing a hat had had him, Quick quipped, “So its some stupid superstition?” “I’m not stupid” Quick shrank for a moment, “Sorry” “Hmp.” Mule stopped, squinting in the sun, and huffed as Quick followed suit. The mule waved his foreleg and gestured to draw attention to his hoof. The next moment the hat was there. It was simply there in his hoof as if it had always been there. Mule adjusted the brim to shield his eyes and began to walk again. He was not followed for another minute. The gemstone crackled, “Business?” Mule projected his voice and spoke clearly as he said, “Confidential Investigator--” and may as well have said open sesame. The brass gate opened immediately as the gemstone crackled for just a second more. In the morning light, the yard of the Horn estate was clear to see. Some movement to the left caught Quick’s eye and some to the right caught Mule’s. On the far end of the patio was an earth pony with a net on a long pole. They were too far to discern, but it was clear they wore a sort of blue outfit that clashed with a lime coat. In the garden, an earth Mare wore overalls. Her coat made her look like she was wearing denim on denim and she pushed a cart filled with greenery. Trailing behind her was a deep green colt with reddish orange scruff that hid his horn. His mouth was filled with a large and twisted stick and he waved excitedly as they passed. While Quick waved back, Mule waved the knocker. They hardly had to wait as the door opened. “Investigator, welcome,” Silver Pocket greeted. As if the large open door were not enough of an indication, Silver waved for them to enter. When the duo had entered Silver asked, “May I?” and received an old hat. “Your endorsement has been drafted, allow me a moment to retrieve it,” he said. As the butler exited the mudroom, Mule looked to Quick and asked, “What are the rules?” “Really?” Quick whined, “we aren’t even meeting the lord.” “Yes, really. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut last time,” Mule jabbed. Quick sighed, “Um--dont speak... and leave quietly.” “And?” “And... don't look annoyed.” As Quick finished his listing, Silver had returned to the mudroom with two envelopes. As he spoke he offered them to Mule, then to Quick, then waved them back to Mule. “You may request 10,000 bits with these endorsements.” Mule, not ready to receive the envelopes at first, took the endorsements when Silver finished speaking. He held the paper awkwardly as he asked, “Is there a good room for taking questions?” Silver hummed, “Yes, there is the sun-room, the library and...”--Mule noted his lack of pockets--”...no just those two.” Quick brightened at the mention of the library, but was distracted by Mule hooving him the endorsements. “I take it the sun-room has a large window?” Mule asked. Vibrant greens and soft yellows decorated three story walls of blooming vines. The sun room was practically a conservatory and it’s humidity reflected that. The combination of an internal weather system and a semicircle of massive east facing windows cooperated to make a little patch of indoor jungle. There were several varieties of trees along a path around the windows. Each tree was distinct in some way; some trees had trunks twisted nearly into knots; some trees had flawlessly smooth bark; some trees had bark that flaked in massive pieces. Among the trees in the center of the room was a lemon tree. Besides this tree there was a short table, wide cloth chairs and benches--practically beds. “I’d like to ask you some questions, if you have the time?” Mule requested from beside the lemon tree. “Oh, I do. At least until the lunch hour,” said Silver having finished pouring two glasses of lemon tonic. He poured a third. “Ask away.” Mule waited and listened to Silver pulling a chair closer, then sitting. He did not turn from the window. “Do you have family here.” “Yes, many serving Lord Horn.” “How does the lord pay?” “Oh, he pays very well. The Horn vault has always been deep.” “How are the Horns? How is Gloom?” “Horn, just the one. He’s...” Silver paused to consider his words. “Temperamental isn’t the best word, but he gets into these moods. Very different moods. He is very different, day to day. Some things are always the same though. He is very generous. He is always... distant. Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. I’d say you don't know what to expect with him, but knowing him this long--well--I have a good idea most of the time.” He considered that a well enough answer as he looked to Mule. Mule evidently did not, “Continue. What is he like on a good day? A bad day?” Silver leaned back into his seat as he thought. “A good day. The lord... Gloom isn’t very talkative. If he starts a conversation, its a good day. He will talk to anypony he meets, he will sing when he composes... Music. When its him playing the music, not the enchanted ones. That’s a good day.” “How about a bad day?” “Bad days... they-- there’s a lot of ways--not... let me start again. The lord has these... moods. Sometimes for a day, a week, a month. He’s always in a mood this season. You’ve heard about the flood. Nopony talks about the flood unless they must, but Gloom... I don’t think he stops thinking about it. Not for a few months at least.” “He lost a lot,” Mule inferred. “He lost... He knew everyone, you know? I’ve heard that when he was a colt, he wasn’t like this. He talked to everypony, every day. The young heir was popular, he loved it. And... excuse me.” Silver took a deep breath and steadied his wavering breath. When he regained his composure he started again, “I think he lost the most. Most lost one or two, but Gloom--Gloom must have lost a dozen. And his mother and brother... I think you understand, don't you?” Mule looked back from the window to assure Silver, “Yes, I think I know. He visits them often, doesn’t he?” “Yes,” Silver nodded, “Some days, that’s all he will do.” “That’s a bad day,” Mule stated. “That’s a bad day.” “Excuse me,” Quick interrupted, “I'm sorry, but I’ve run out of ink.” Having no ink-pot, Quick had made use of a pen from the inn. He was partly relieved that the pen had run out of its cheap blue ink; the pen was a pain to use. “Oh, no bother,” Silver said as Mule grunted. “Have one of mine,” he offered as he pulled a sleek pen from his suit pocket. Quick offered silent thanks and prepared to take notes again. “So,” Mule captured Silver’s attention again, “There’s lots of ways, you said, he has a bad day?” “Hmm, yes. Forgive me, but when he is mourning he is... relatively easy to handle. He... Please keep this confidential.” Having returned to window watching, Mule simply nodded. “He will once, perhaps twice a year, throw these parties. They are strange things. He will make a big deal out of preparing for them; all of the staff get wrapped up in it. We all prepare for a week at least. The gallery is arranged into a proper ballroom and theater, the garden is immaculate, local lodging is reserved, etcetera. And when the day comes, nopony arrives.” “He doesn’t invite anypony?” Mule inquired. “Its strange, perhaps the strangest part. He does invite ponies. I asked Minty, the drafter, about the invitations. She said they all reached the post, Equestria Air guarantee.” Silver stopped to take a drink. “The return postage though, some return quickly. They say they’re sick, they say they’re busy. Normal. Then the letters say they have previous engagements, they are traveling. And again this seems normal except for the quantity of the letters. But then they just get bizarre. One said they cannot attend because they were ‘captured by pirates’. Another said they had been turned into cheese. All kinds of ridiculous things. And there's a dozen of them!” “And how does the lord react?” Silver waves a hoof out in exasperation and huffs, “He throws the party.”